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On every entrepreneur’s Christmas list, way ahead of pleas for a robust, uninterrupted cash flow, is the wish to receive a process or mechanism that creates team unity or espirit de corps. While business builders know that they can assemble players capable of delivering the goods, they are not at all confident that their talent will cohere as a team.

What complicates this problem immeasurably is the all too common inverse correlation between having talent and playing nicely with others. All but the most naïve executives know that talent, if not treated as they feel they should be, are prone to throwing to hissy fits or worse. And since no one hunts for mediocre talent –the folks who are glad to work and would never behave like a prima donna— the process of team-building is inherently booby-trapped: No amount of rational thought can create a team comprised of players that mesh like gears of a Swiss watch since stellar individual performance often precludes the capacity for camaraderie.

I would love to be able to say, “Forbes readers, your search for the Holy Grail is over: Here’s how you get Talent + Team spirit.” No one can say that. What I can promise, however, is to show you what the answer to your prayers looks like: Talent that not only never disrupts group harmony but, by dint of character strength and some intangibles I have yet to identify, functions within an organization as a human tide that raises all ships.

Tim Lincecum (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The prototype of this Mojo-maker is Tim Lincecum, a.k.a, “The Freak,” a two-time Cy Young Award-winning pitcher for the San Francisco Giants. If you are not a baseball fan you should know that Cy Young Awards are honors given annually (by Major League Baseball) to the best pitcher in the American and National leagues. Tim won one (of his two) in 2010 when, as the ace of the pitching staff, the Giants won the World Series for the first time since 1954.

To reward Tim for his stellar performance the Giants gave him a two-year, $40.5 million contract at the start of the 2012 season. What neither Tim nor the Giants realized (as I point out and discuss in detail in my book The Success Syndrome), contracts like his –$20 million/year for playing a game my son begs to play— often destroy the psychological equilibrium of those who receive them. Like Chuck Knoblauch: A former Gold Glove second baseman that got a super-contract from the Yankees and then lost his ability to throw a baseball. Tim suffered an almost identical fate: During the 2012 season many of his pitches bounced 5 feet in front of catcher Buster Posey and at one point he had the worst ERA in major league baseball among starters: 6.42. As a result Giants manager Bruce Bochy demoted Lincecum to the bullpen; a role reserved for rookie pitchers on their way up or failed pitchers on their way out.

Tim Lincecum responded in a favorably defiant way to this narcissistic injury: Instead of folding or flipping-out and creating a disaster, Tim provided the intangibles that enabled the 2012 San FranciscoGiants –arguably the most unlikely group of cast-offs, retreads, and Zombies to ever win a MLB championship— to dominate their post-season opponents. Here’s how he did it:

Tim Walked The “Team Player” Walk.

On those rare occasions when superstar talent fails to perform as expected, a demotion, suspension, or the like, is almost always met with reactions that destroy team harmony. Lincecum re-wrote the rulebook on this matter. In response to his demotion he embraced the role of “support player” without losing the ego, self-assurance, and swagger that made him a superstar. When reporters asked him how he was adjusting to life in the bullpen soon after being demoted, Lincecum refused to respond with a politically correct pack of lies. Instead he said, “I wouldn't say I'm getting accustomed to it now, but I'm learning to deal with it better.” He then added, “I know it sounds really selfish, but I want to think this team needs me. And I need it.”

This and similar examples of his ego strength are why Tim Lincecum helped inspire the Giants to succeed. He refused to play Pollyanna while at the same time refused to deny responsibility for his fate and commitment to return to form. In all the interviews he gave this past year, Lincecum was brave without denying bitterness; self-aware with appropriate sorrow; hopeful despite hurting.

When a team sees a superstar respond to hardship in this manner it creates a positive group mood. Giants’ manager Bruce Bochy knew this when he told the press, "[Tim] didn't waver on going to the bullpen. He said, `Yeah, I'd love to… help this team move forward.'" That attitude is what inspiration is derived from: If “The Franchise” [Tim’s nickname in 2010] was willing to subordinate his ego for the good of the team, every other team member should offer nothing less. Parenthetically, when called upon in the post-season for relief pitching, Lincecum was virtually unhittable.

Lincecum Never Once Sought To Assuage His Ego In Maladaptive Ways.

The vast majority of superstars who endure slumps or periods of stinking up the joint defend their egos in one of two primitive ways: (1) Denial [If I don’t discuss it, it doesn’t exits], or, (2) spurious self-aggrandizement [soliciting adoration from those who don’t know better]. Not Tim Lincecum. While he was waving the Giants’ colors despite being in personal pain, other slumping superstars involved in post-season play were actively destructive influences on their teams. For example:

Denial: While the Giants were embarrassing the Detroit Tigers in a World Series sweep, Triple Crown winner Miguel Cabrera was batting only slightly better than I could have; a sub .100 average. Rather than act like a paragon of strength, tell the world, “Hey, I’m a man and must take responsibility for the good and the bad,” Cabrera stormed away from post-game interviews. Likewise, when cornered for a post-sweep interview by reporters, the Tiger’s putative “Big Hitter” Prince Fielder lashed-out at the press (“This isn’t about me… it’s a team loss”) before they asked him a question. I guess he feared he would be asked why he failed to hit better than Giants’ pitchers did.

Following his worst outings prior to being banished to the bullpen Lincecum endured the agony of being probed by the press with dignity, humility, and an unwavering devotion to his team. During World Series games Tim was seen cheer-leading his mates inning after inning, not sulking as Cabrera and Fielder were caught doing every time TV cameras zoomed into their dugout.

Acting Out: Before the Giants played the Tigers the men from Detroit swept the Yankees for the American League pennant. When New York’s highest paid player, Alex Rodriquez, batted as poorly as Cabrera and Fielder did, Yankee’s manager Joe Girardi benched him. But A-Rod didn’t sulk. Instead, he made news because while his team was being embarrassed he was flirting with two women seated near the Yankee dugout. If you cannot boost your ego one way, boost it in another realm!

When you contrast how A-Rod dealt with poor performance (flirting while his teammates were getting their clocks cleaned) to Lincecum’s calling himself a “safety net” for the Giants, willing to help as needed, you can understand the power of Tim’s covert message to his teammates. I’m not saying that A-Rod’s narcissism was the cause of the Yankee’s failure, but I know a pro-team message such as Lincecum’s helped spur the Giants to success.

Whenever a superstar implodes like a supernova and is able to hold it together psychologically, refusing to act-out in self-serving ways, he sends an invaluable message to his teammates. What Lincecum did was exemplify the principle, “There is no ‘I’ in team, but there is one in ‘Win’, and I want the Giants to win.” In contrast, A-Rod, Cabrera, and Fielder conveyed an unambiguous, “I care about me” to everyone around them. Teams don’t work if the talent they rely upon for producing results sends that sort of message to colleagues.

Tim Never Stopped Being Tim.

Back in 2010 Tim Lincecum’s “Who gives a hoot?” looseness and swagger created the zeitgeist that defined the Giants. In 2012, although he wasn’t a team leader in terms of producing results, he led by example: Banished to support status Lincecum was still evincing swagger by refusing to give up on himself or his team as he endeavored to recapture his Cy Young award-winning form.